


Addressed to One Mrs. William Donovan

by summerwoodsmoke



Category: Ars Paradoxica (Podcast)
Genre: Bill Donovan Makes A Lot Of Questionable Decisions, F/M, Marriage of Convenience, POV Female Character, Season 1 Spoilers, Tape 26, age gap, im so sorry, this is sort of rpf except it's so far from the real people its basically not rpf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-05 19:47:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10315667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerwoodsmoke/pseuds/summerwoodsmoke
Summary: Ostensibly, Gwen Donovan’s place of residence was in Philadelphia, where her husband had been stationed since America had joined the war, working with the Navy. In reality, she'd only lived there with him for a few months before he moved her to his house in Polvo, New Mexico, a town no one knew existed save for the people living in it and, she assumed, high-ups like the President.Ostensibly, Gwen Donovan knew her husband was there because of Lambert and Maraczek. She was never told otherwise, but she knew from the beginning there was something much bigger going on.Ostensibly, Gwen Donovan was told a lot of things, but simple observance and common sense told her otherwise almost every time.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [genresavvy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/genresavvy/gifts).



> this fic requires so many notes, apologies to everyone at aP, the real people this fic is based off, and aP fans who are gonna be like ??? when they see this ksdljflg IM SORRY.
> 
> 1\. there are real ppl in this fic, but they are not portrayed at all like their real selves. i’ve messed with history Big Time. my deepest apologies to these people. and to anybody reading: please ignore reality. gwen groves is leslie groves’ second child, but for this story i swapped her and her brother’s birth order. bill donovan has been aged down, because i really don't think a 62 year old man could get hit by a car and be That Okay, or, frankly, live to 93. he’s been aged down probably too much to be realistic but. age gap.
> 
> 2\. where did this even come from? you may be wondering. during my first listen-through of aP, i was completely drawn in by bill’s 26th tape in ep 10i, when he tells himself to just ‘tell her what she means to you’. then, in my relistening of the show, sally briefly mentions bill donovan’s wife in episode 3. this threw me and my friend into Full On Conspiracy Mode and this story is the result of two possible explanations we came up with
> 
> 3\. nobody called leslie groves leslie. i dont know why. his family calls him DNO (deeno) and people who knew him well called him dick
> 
> 4\. i didn’t actually know bill donovan was a real person when i first started writing this
> 
> ok. i think that’s all. oh my gosh. will i ever write something for aP thats not super weird and niche? probably not. will we ever have enough aP fic for my niche fic to fall into the niche cracks? hopefully one day!
> 
> 100% dedicated to hannah. i wouldn't have gotten this far without you, for better or worse

_Mr. and Mrs. Leslie Groves are pleased to announce the marriage of their daughter,_

_Gwen Marian Groves_

_To_

_William Joseph Donovan,_

_Son of Mr. and Mrs. Timothy Donovan_

_Your presence is requested at this happy event, commencing April 21st, 1943, in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, at St. Stephen’s Episcopal Church..._

 

* * *

 

 

**October 1937**

 

Gwen Groves met Wild Bill Donovan when she was fourteen years old.

 

She was at a party in Kansas City as her father’s date, since her mother hadn’t been feeling well. DNO’s position as a government official meant he got invited to a lot of society parties, as much as he wish he didn’t, and even though most people didn’t even know what work he did. Gwen barely knew herself, but if it meant she got to put on a nice dress and pretend to be fancy with a bunch of stuffy adults, she was a fan of it.

 

That particular party had been a fundraiser, hosted by the city manager. There were socialites in attendance, along with government types from municipal, state, and federal levels, men from the justice system and universities, and a _lot_ of wives.

 

One of DNO’s coworkers introduced them to a man named Shook and his wife Kathryn. Gwen mostly watched and sipped her sparkling cider as the four of them were all talking like they’d known each other for years, mostly about boring local stuff. Gwen wasn’t sure why her father cared so much when they were getting ready to move again anyway. Why didn’t they talk about Europe, or tennis, or literally anything Gwen would care a lick about?

 

“Yes, yes, he’s here tonight, just over there, talking with my partner,” Shook was saying. Gwen only paid attention because he’d rather rudely pointed right over her shoulder. She turned to see where he was pointing, but there were a lot of two-men conversations happening. “Hey, John! Send Bill over this way when you’re done with him!” Shook called (over Gwen’s shoulder again; she wasn’t that short, was she?), and an older man lifted his drink in acknowledgement. The man he was talking to, Bill, looked like a boy next to him. Gwen wondered if he was someone’s son.

 

He walked over a minute later and Gwen could see then that he was a man in his own right. He wasn’t a small man by any means either, with broad shoulders and thick limbs. He looked more like the soldiers Gwen had grown up around than a lawyer.

 

That's what Bill Donovan was, a lawyer, working under Shook and the other old man. He was twenty-five, just hired at their firm fresh out of law school. A “very promising young fellow,” Shook assured DNO, and Gwen watched the tips of Bill’s ears turn pink.

 

“It's nice to meet you, son,” DNO said as they shook hands.

 

“An honour, sir,” Bill replied briskly.

 

“This is my daughter, Gwen.” Bill turned to her as her father introduced her and suddenly she hoped her own ears weren't reddening.

 

Gwen hastily lowered her glass from her mouth. “Pleased to meet you.”

 

“And you, Miss Groves,” Bill said. His handshake was a military handshake too. Gwen would swear this man had been born into the wrong life. Everything about him was perfect edges, sharp and practiced. Gwen knew she had little hope of her blush not spreading down her neck and just prayed he didn’t notice.

 

DNO took her home not long after, pleased to use his daughter’s school schedule as an excuse to get home by midnight rather than hours later. Gwen wouldn't have minded staying longer, watching the slow unraveling of Kansas City’s best and brightest as the booze got the better of them. She also wouldn't have minded staying in the same place as Bill Donovan a bit longer, but she didn't mention that to DNO.

 

The sly look her father gave her the next morning at breakfast when he brought up Donovan told her she hadn't had to say anything. That was embarrassing, but she'd live with it. She'd just beat DNO extra well next time they played tennis and pray he didn't tell her mother.

 

And anyway, it wasn't like they were ever likely to see Donovan again. They were moving to Pennsylvania soon for DNO’s work. The chances of a military brat like her crossing paths with a Missourian lawyer again were frighteningly low. A fancy party and an attractive crush were good daydream fuel for the road, but little more. Gwen was content.

 

* * *

 

**January 1943**

 

“We think you should marry Bill Donovan.”

 

Gwen’s blood roared in her ears as she turned to stare at her father across the living room. She knew her parents wanted her to marry practically, to a man that would keep her safe and protected during these uncertain times. They’d made no attempt to hide that wish, and she hadn’t minded. Or, she hadn’t thought she’d minded. But...Bill Donovan? A man she met once as a girl and now could call an acquaintance, at best, regardless of her feelings towards him?

 

“You _what_?” she managed to ask.

 

“Don't you like the boy?” DNO asked, one hand outstretched. “I could've sworn you said you liked him.”

 

Gwen squeezed her hands into fists to keep from crying or yelling or maybe both. “That was years ago! I was fourteen, it was a crush!”

 

“Well, you still like him, don't you? He's a fine man, even finer than when we met him.”

 

“Yes, of course he's a fine man, but that doesn't mean I want to marry him!”

 

“Oh, come now—”

 

“No!” Gwen practically shouted. She flexed her hands and swallowed. “ _You_ got to marry for love, didn't you?” She looked up and met her father’s eye. “Why can't I do the same?”

 

“Oh, Gwenny.” Her father stepped close and hugged her. She didn't return it, but she didn't reject it either. He leaned back to meet her eyes again. “You're right. Your mother and I married for love. And luckily it was a love that lasted, but it's not always that. Love and marriage overlap, but they're not the same.

 

“I think you and Bill Donovan would be a good match for a good marriage. If you honestly don't agree with me on that statement, then I’ll shut it all down, I promise. But I want you to honestly think about it, Gwen. And, if love _is_ that important to you, well, I don't think you have to worry too much when it comes to Wild Bill.” DNO smiled. “If you could see the two of you together, Gwen.”

 

Gwen studied his eyes. She kept her hands in fists even though she wasn't angry anymore; they made her feel better, stronger. She thought about being part of a good match for a good marriage. She thought about how her fleeting crush had returned with Bill Donovan’s reappearance in her life a few years ago and how she’d hoped she’d successfully hidden it. She thought about the war, and whatever role her father had in it that had given him the circles under his eyes. She thought of Bill Donovan, an acquaintance, firm and steady and military, finally. She knew her father had good reasons for everything he did, even if he didn’t always share them. She thought of, briefly, _Mrs. Bill Donovan_. She kept her hands in fists and looked into her father's eyes and said, “Okay. I’ll do it.”

 

* * *

 

**April 1943**

 

Gwen knew about marriage and sex mostly from what girls whispered to each other at school and what books hinted at. Gwen wasn't the first of the girls her age to get married, but she was close to it, which was a shame because she'd been hoping for a bit more experience for her to draw from before she went through with it herself.  
  
Luckily (or unluckily) her mother and her aunt sat her down a few days before the wedding. Gwen barely made it through that conversation alive. She knew more than she had realized; there wasn't quite so many hidden mysteries to a girl's wedding night as she'd been lead to believe.  
  
She and Bill had kissed before. Not much beyond that, as they didn't really get the chance, but Gwen knew what she was doing there, at least. Bill wasn't her first and they both seemed to enjoy themselves. And now, with her mother's and aunt's unfortunate lesson in hand, she felt fairly confident that her wedding night wasn't anything to be nervous about.  
  
(She was right. She'd been a bit apprehensive once they were alone in the car, but by the time they got to the house and he was carrying her inside, she was just...giddy. And it went fine, after that.  
  
And then he fell asleep.  
  
And that...was a pretty good way to sum up Gwen's new life. It was fine, and most of the time she spent with Bill, he was asleep.)

 

* * *

 

**May 1943**

 

Ostensibly, Gwen Donovan’s place of residence was in Philadelphia, where her husband had been stationed since America had joined the war, working with the Navy. In reality, she'd only lived there with him for a few months before he moved her to his house in Polvo, New Mexico, a town no one knew existed save for the people living in it and, she assumed, high-ups like the President.

 

Ostensibly, Gwen Donovan knew her husband was there because of Lambert and Maraczek. She was never told otherwise, but she knew from the beginning there was something much bigger going on.

 

Ostensibly, Gwen Donovan was told a lot of things, but simple observance and common sense told her otherwise almost every time.

 

* * *

 

_October 30, 1943_

 

_Bill’s bugged the town. Or maybe it was always bugged, long before I got here, and he simply takes advantage of such an easy opportunity._

 

_Regardless, it makes me think of that new scientist, the woman that arrived in town the same time Lambert and Maraczek did. She asked Bill for a recording device, to use as a diary. I imagine she'd be much less quick to use it if she knew every wall had ears. Good old fashioned paper will do just fine for me._

 

_I wonder...is our house bugged? Would he be that thorough? I imagine he would, if he had a high enough opinion of me, but I don't quite think he does. Perhaps I’m safe after all._

 

* * *

 

**December 1943**

 

Gwen’s mother still lived in Washington, all alone now that she was married and her brother was off at private school in Massachusetts, and their father was in Los Alamos more often than not.

 

That was something Gwen imagined she was never supposed to know about. Los Alamos. She'd been cleaning the house one day and Bill had left papers out on his desk, not like him at all. She didn't wonder if it was on purpose; she couldn't imagine her husband ever sharing information of any sort willingly, to anyone. He must've been quite stressed to have left the folder on Polvo’s sister city out in the open.

 

Gwen felt sick after reading the file. Not quite nauseous, but like her innards were more like rock than like human. She couldn't picture DNO, her dear father, master tennis player, the man with bad joints, down in Los Alamos, directing Manhattan the same way Bill was directing multiple projects here in Polvo. She couldn't picture it, but she could believe it. She _did_ believe it, wholeheartedly. Her whole family had noted the change in DNO back in early ‘42, right after he'd joined a new project he couldn't talk much about. He was much quieter now, less likely to laugh boisterously, less likely to tease.

 

Gwen closed the folder with shaking fingers. She left it right where she found it on the desk and left her duster next to it. Cleaning could wait. She needed a drink.

 

* * *

**May 1944**

 

Gwen felt as though she lived two lives, most days. There was the life with the spies and the scientists and the town that didn't exist, and then there was the life she’d grown up with, rich families, and parties in Washington, and connections to the Army and government used as step stools.

 

She was visiting Washington right now, for a party her mother assured her she couldn't miss. Edward and Sylvia Gibson, a businessman and a socialite, were hosting in their modest mansion.

 

“And how’s Bill doing?” Sylvia asked, hair and makeup perfect, a carefree grin on her face, a glass of white wine in her hand. Sylvie’s husband was across the room, making appearances and shaking hands like a good man does.

 

“Oh, he's keeping busy,” Gwen replied. “It's all very secret, what with, you know,” she gestured with her hand to signify _the war._ Sylvia nodded and _mmm_ ’d, and they both took a sip of their wine.

 

“Well, next time you're both in Washington, you know we’d love to have you.” Sylvie squeezed Gwen’s hand in her own. “Philly’s never felt so far!”

 

“Of course, Sylvia, of course. If I don't get the chance to talk to Edward, give him my love.” Gwen waited for Sylvia to move on to the next guest before dropping her grin. Her cheeks hurt. She let herself hate Bill for a minute for leaving her here alone before reminding herself of the work being done in Polvo by ODAR, pasted her grin back on, and turned to mingle some more.

 

* * *

 

**July 1944**

 

As much as Gwen had enjoyed high society parties growing up, she found she enjoyed them less and less every time she attended one. Between that, her knees aching during tennis, and living in a secret town designed to help the war effort, she was afraid she really was becoming her father.

 

Although the 4th of July was as good an excuse as any to escape New Mexico, she wasn't taking it. She'd last seen her mother in May, and Gwen didn't really feel up to playing a charade for hours at another party in Washington. So, she apologized to her mother, blamed it on her husband like any girl would, and inserted herself into Polvo’s July 4th plans.

 

Polvo, for all it was, had a surprisingly hopping social life. It wasn't the sort of social life she’d encountered before, between the Army and the capital, but Gwen loved it anyway.

 

She hadn't always loved it. The first time she'd gone to one of Polvo’s numerous house parties, she'd been furious that Bill had sent her alone and stayed behind to do work. She realized almost immediately why he never went, though. It gave the citizens of Polvo a break from the Director of the town, their boss with the final say on everything. It gave them a chance to relax. Despite the wires she knew were in every wall, she relaxed too. She grew to love the absence of her commandeering husband and grew to love the presence of scientists and switchboard girls and shop boys.

 

The truly wonderful thing about Polvo’s 4th of July plans were that the party was being held on the edge of town, in an empty field. _No wires_. Tables had been brought out to lay enough food to feed an army on and there was a steel barrel for a fire once the sun went down. The children seemed to be having a blast despite the lack of a playground, running around like little hellions. It was a party scarce in supplies, but nobody could say it was lacklustre.

 

Sally wished there were fireworks. But wartime mixed with secret town mixed with science experiments meant that fireworks were definitely a no-go in Polvo. Gwen did her best to hide her smile at Sally’s pout, but she was pretty sure Helen noticed.

 

“We’ll have a wonderful night even without fireworks, Sally,” Helen comforted, glancing between Sally and Gwen.

 

“Yeah,” Sally said glumly. She sighed, then said, “I’m gonna go get some booze.” As soon as she was out of earshot, Gwen burst into giggles. Helen stared at her, baffled but a smile growing on her face.

 

“What’s so funny?” Helen asked, despite her own smile.

 

Gwen breathed slowly to get herself under control. “Sally Grissom is a very...forthright woman,” she finally said. “It’s a nice change once in awhile.”

 

Helen considered that for a moment, her head tilting. “I suppose you’re right,’ she said. She looked towards the drinks table, where Jack Wyatt was fighting with Sally over a bottle. “She’s quite the gamechanger, isn’t she.” Her voice was thoughtful, too pensive and serious for considering a quirky scientist currently bickering over who could get a glass of champagne faster.

 

Gwen studied Helen’s profile; the older woman knew where Sally was from, she was sure. She thought of Anthony and Bill and sighed. She imagined Helen Partridge, on equal footing and sure ground with her husband, knew about Sally because she had simply been told. Gwen Donovan, young and naive and relatively new to town, wasn’t _told_ things. She knew about Sally because she’d pieced it together from overheard conversations over days.

 

“Gamechanger’s perhaps putting it lightly,” Gwen said sardonically. She took a sip from her cup, feeling Helen’s eyes on her. The giddy mood was gone. She hoped she’d get it back: the break from the wires while still being home was too good to pass up. But talking with Helen had been yet another reminder, in a life insistent on reminding her, that Gwen’s life was tied to Bill Donovan’s, incredibly, exceedingly, awfully.

 

* * *

 

**February 1945**

 

“Do you love me?” she asked him one quiet evening before the fire. She was buzzed for a quiet evening at home, uselessly keeping her husband company as he worked late into the night. He didn’t look up from his book, but he did pause in writing.

 

“You’re my wife,” he said after a few seconds, and went back to work. Gwen nodded and set her glass down, unfinished. She wasn’t sure why she’d expected anything else.

 

“Goodnight, Bill.”

 

* * *

 

**July 1945**

 

There was a stranger on her front step. At six in the morning, no less.

 

Gwen was grateful she’d skipped her dressing gown that morning and just gotten dressed once she got out of bed. Which, for the record, had been all of five minutes ago.

 

“Hello,” she said politely to the nervous-looking young man.

 

“I’m sorry to intrude so early, ma’am, I’m just here to wait for your husband.”

 

Gwen raised an eyebrow. “Is he expecting you, Mr…?”

 

The man jumped a little. “Oh! Uh, excuse my manners. My name's Officer Chet Whickman, I was recently appointed head of security in Polvo.”

 

“Congratulations,” Gwen interjected.

 

Whickman nodded. “Thank you, ma’am, and yes, he should be expecting me, I apologize for the intrusion again.”

 

Gwen let him stew a bit longer before smiling. “Well, as long as you're supposed to be here.” She turned away from the door, gesturing Whickman to follow with a hand over her shoulder.

 

Whickman cleared his throat and followed.

 

Bill came down about half an hour later (after he finished with his one indulgence, his morning routine of a long, hot shower) to find Gwen and Chet Whickman sharing breakfast and discussing _The Great Gatsby._ He was befuddled, to say the least.

 

“Whickman,” Bill said after a few seconds of being ignored. The two at the table jumped a bit. Bill watched as the two blondes looked up at him and remembered how young they both were. Just a year apart in age. He wanted to pinch his nose and sigh, but resisted. “Whenever you’re ready to go?”

 

“Of course, sir.” Whickman stood hastily and offered a hand to Gwen. She shook it and smiled. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Donovan.”

 

“Of course, same to you, Officer Whickman.” Gwen stood and followed the two of them to the door. She waited till Bill had his coat on before tugging him down to kiss him on the lips. Bill couldn't help but release the tension from his shoulders, and he knew that's why Gwen had done it—she was laughing into his mouth. She always seemed to know what he was feeling long before he did himself, always five steps ahead. He pinched her hip lightly and she yelped, leaping away from him with a laugh. Bill kept his face steady and serious, leaning in once more to give Gwen a peck.

 

“I'll see you tonight, dear,” he said before leaving without another word or glance to either of them. Gwen was still laughing as she waved goodbye to a flustered Whickman and shut the door behind them.

 

* * *

 

_September 21, 1945_

 

_It's been a sad business with June Barlowe. The funeral for Quentin was a few days ago, and June’s set to leave soon. She refuses to pretend it is at all her choice, and I commend her for it._

 

_I don't imagine how the government, for all their caution, hopes to pacify an angry widow (that they've angered even further) into not spilling any of their secrets. Perhaps they don't think of a widow of any sort as a threat. Perhaps they will blackmail her. Perhaps they've promised her Sally Grissom’s head on a silver platter after the war. I do not know._

 

_Later_

_Apparently, June decided to fetch the head and platter herself. It all works out in the end, I guess. Nobody died aside from Quentin. Bill’s aggravated, but he's glad Dr. Grissom’s still alive, I can tell._

 

_I can’t help but wonder at what, specifically, my husband has in mind for Sally and her machine. The war’s over. What is he planning?_

 

* * *

 

**September 1945**

 

“Check over the reports one last time before sending them off to Washington. We don't want any misunderstandings about what the Timepiece is capable of.”

 

Chet winced as he took the files from Bill. “Of course, sir. It's a shame all this has to happen to the Barlowes for us to finally be able to prove it.”

 

Bill nodded shortly. He knew he would tell Chet of the many ways he had been able to utilize the Timepiece, and he knew that he would tell him, because it was what he usually did. When he needed help, he’d bring Chet into it. For now though, things were fine.

 

Well. Maybe not fine, outside of the ‘successful time travel’ department. And Chet was a real bleeding heart, a real fan of helping out if he could. Bill considered, then grit his teeth and called, “Wait!” right as Chet stepped foot out the office. The young man turned and looked at him questioningly.

 

“I wondered if I might ask you for some...advice,” Bill managed to ask.

 

“Of course, sir,” Chet said eagerly.

 

Bill shuffled some papers around his desk. “It's about...Gwen.”

 

A pause, and then Chet said, “I see.” He seemed more serious now. That was interesting.

 

“Our marriage is...unique, in many ways. Currently, I fear something is wrong, but...I can’t say for certain whether I’m right, or whether I should say something. ...I fear she’s unhappy.”

 

“Why do you say that?” Chet’s voice was reserved. Bill glanced at him, his look edging on a glare. Did Chet know if she was unhappy? If she was upset? Was Chet hiding something about Gwen from him? Bill sighed deeply. This job really was starting to get the better of him, if he was that paranoid that quickly.

 

“I met the Groves family briefly not long after I moved to Kansas City, and they moved away not long after. We didn’t see each other again for three years, until I moved to Washington in 1940 for a job. I had a...reputation, as a lawyer, and despite my lack of connections there, I became part of the city’s _society_ rather quickly. Dick in particular took a liking to me. He was the one that got me my first job with the government. He was also the one who brought up the idea of marriage.”

 

Chet shifted. Bill didn’t look up from his desk. “Are you saying...Gwen didn’t know? Or…”

 

“No, she knew,” Bill said. He was almost certain Gwen had known. “It was really just...more Dick’s idea than hers or mine, from beginning to end.”

 

“Do you love her?” A bolder question than he had expected from Chet Whickman. He didn’t reply. After a minute, Chet spoke again, softer. “Does she love you?”

 

“Doesn’t she?” Bill asked quickly. “Isn’t that what’s expected?”

 

“Well, if you don’t love her, why should she love you?” Chet asked.

 

Bill closed his eyes briefly. _I do love her_ , he wanted to say, but he wasn’t sure whether that was true or not. He _wanted_ to love Gwen, with everything he had, he knew that much. He was just...uncertain.

 

And now, it turned out Gwen might not even love him in the first place.

 

He decided then he wouldn’t say anything. Bill wasn’t a man to show his hand without calculating whether it would be worth the risk, and talking this out with Chet had ascertained for him that here, the risks outweighed the likely non-existent reward.

 

Bill inhaled and looked up from his desk. Chet looked uncertain, and he stood with one foot behind him, his weight split. “Thank you, Chet,” Bill said as sincerely as he could.

 

Chet blinked and shook his head a little. “You’re...welcome,” he replied, and shifted all his weight onto his back foot before turning and leaving.

 

* * *

 

**December 1945**

 

“Tape 26. Tell her, dammit. For God’s sake, tell her what she means to you.”

 

* * *

 

**December 28, 1945**

 

Gwen didn't even know Bill was home from Washington until he came home from the office that night.

 

“You went straight to work? After traveling so long?” she asked tersely as she made up a second plate for dinner.

 

“Had to make sure everything accomplished on the trip will be solidified.” Bill blinked as he sat at the table behind her and muttered something to himself. She didn't know if he realized just how upset she was. If he didn't, she certainly wasn't about to tell him. Everything was too much lately, every little thing (and big thing, like the Christmas party) was building up to a finale Gwen couldn't see coming, and she hated it.

 

She placed his dinner just a smidge too loudly down on the table before moving to sit across from him. Bill’s lips were pursed. It was the most uncomfortable dinner she ever had, and that was saying quite a bit. After dinner, he put his plate on the counter and retreated to his study immediately. Gwen spitefully left the dishes undone, despite knowing they’d be crusty and impossible to do tomorrow, and it would still be her doing them.

 

* * *

 

**December 28, 1945**

 

“Gwen!” Bill called as soon as he was through the door. “You home?”

 

Gwen left her book in the parlour and met him in the hall. “You're back! How was the trip?”

 

He didn't answer, instead hugging her without hesitation. Eyes wide, she hugged him back.

 

“I miss you,” he said, then immediately– “Missed. Will miss. No, missed.” He stood up straight and cleared his throat. “How have you been?” he asked very politely. Gwen blinked.

 

“Fine, thank you,” she replied slowly. “How was Washington?” He winced and she raised an eyebrow.

 

“Frustrating,” was all he said. He looked done, ready to move to his study and get back to it, until he suddenly went completely still and looked her right in the eye.

 

She met his gaze steadily and waited. And waited. He opened his mouth before closing it again, and she didn't look away.

 

“I should...office. Lots to do.” Without another word, he walked around her and to his office. Gwen made a confused face at the wall before returning to the parlour.

 

* * *

 

**December 28, 1945**

 

He stared at her blankly, breathing too heavily. She waited. He said nothing. She ate dinner alone that night.

 

* * *

 

**December 28, 1945**

 

He released her from his hug only to take her hand in his own, his finger brushing her wedding ring. He looked at it, then up at her, then back down. He ran his thumb along the ring, and she breathed steadily, trying to stop herself from hoping to much.

 

Suddenly, he dropped her hand like a hot potato. “I’ll have work—I’ll had work—” He stopped and groaned, then headed to his study without another word.

 

* * *

 

**December 28, 1945**

 

“You're back! How was the trip?”

 

He coughed into one hand. “It was fine. We’re preparing...for the next step.”

 

Gwen directed Bill to take off his coat and went to hang it up. “And where will the next step be taking us?”

 

“Not us,” he said, and his coat slipped out of her hands. She turned without picking it up, hanger loose in her grasp.

 

“What?” she asked. She must've misheard.

 

“Not us,” he repeated. “Just me.”

 

“What are you saying?” she asked quietly.

 

Bill clenched his jaw and looked down at his feet. Gwen rolled her lips together. When Bill spoke, he did so slowly, as though he had carefully picked and considered every word that came out of his mouth. “I think we should separate. I think...it would be the best move for both of us.”

 

The best move. Her hands were shaking, they clutched the hanger so hard. _What makes you think you possibly know what's best for me?_ she screamed at him in her mind. _What fuels your decisions? Did almost three years mean nothing to you? Was I right all along? Was this a match of convenience and little else?_

 

She swallowed.

 

She handed Bill Donovan the coat hanger and went upstairs.

 

* * *

 

Gwen lived quietly in 1946. She thought about Bill as little as possible and focused on taking care of her mother, who’d suffered some kind of breakdown near the end of the war and was still recovering. They didn't travel from home much, and when they got visitors who asked after her husband, she told them Bill was off saving America.  
  
  
"But the war's over," they'd laugh, and she'd smile sardonically and reply, "Not if you ask Bill."

 

* * *

 

**January 1947**

 

Whickman sent her Bill’s belongings from wherever they’d gone after Polvo. They arrived at her parents’ house in Washington, addressed to one Mrs. William Donovan. Even now, after he’d died and long after she’d last seen him, she still felt utterly swallowed whole by her husband.

 

Inside the first box seemed mostly to be little mementos, personal effects. It was strange, because she so strongly associated paperwork with Bill, but she supposed the government didn't usually hand over classified files to widows.

 

The second box held clothes. She wondered if they were all the clothes he’d had or if someone had had to pick and choose from his closet to fill this box.

 

The final box was full of tapes. There was a note in with them, from Whickman. He explained that some of the tapes had been kept by his agency for the intelligence they had, but he'd sent her what he could manage from the thirty-odd tapes Bill had made.  
  
  
She laid the tapes out on the table to find their order and counted thirty-one, with not a one missing. Quite a few numbers weren't written in Bill's hand, she noticed. Whickman must've used a cassette copier, for her. She rolled her lips against each other and picked up the first tape. The date said October 28, 1943. She put the tape in her player and, with some trepidation, sat down to listen.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! kudos and comments are very much appreciated
> 
> come find me at twitter.com/alinastarkovas and tanosoka.tumblr.com for more weird aP ramblings!


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